Midnight Christmas Eve
by Tolakasa
Summary: It's amazing how much can happen in a year. Sequel to This Christmas Day


Beta: firesign10  
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they're not mine.

* * *

**Midnight Christmas Eve **

It was a clear, cold night—not quite as freezing cold as the natives were making it out to be, but Sam was biased by a childhood of Midwestern blizzards and several winters spent in New York. At least it _was_ cold this year. Christmas without snow was one thing; even up north, not every Christmas was white. But the warm Christmases they got down here every few years just weren't right, no matter what anybody said, no matter that he'd trapped himself into _having_ to learn how to put up with them. Now that Hannah had properly settled down, there was no way her tribe of a family was letting her move, not even as far as the mountains.

Hannah, at least, wasn't bitching about the cold the way everybody else was. Not because she was used to it, but because she'd been running hot since some time back in September. Right now, she considered the high thirties perfect. She'd put on a short-sleeved dress, _he_'_d_ had to remember her coat, and she'd smacked his hand _hard_ when he'd tried to turn on the Impala's heater.

Probably a good thing he _was_ more used to cold than the rest of the family. Anybody else would be so bundled up against her idea of "comfortable" that he wouldn't be able to drive. Plus they were saving a small fortune on the heating bills.

But mentioning that was just going to get him into trouble. More trouble. Nobody had warned him that having a baby meant he wouldn't be able to say the right thing for four solid _months_, and it wasn't like Hannah was the easiest woman to get along with in the first place. He loved her, he really did, but their relationship didn't lend itself to the kind of easy give-and-take he'd had with Jess.

So, instead of bringing up the cold, he said, as casually as he could, "I don't remember Marcy doing this before. When I was here, I mean."

"Marcy's got a bad case of Southern hospitality," Hannah said, "and won't when there's guests in the house. Especially if the guests aren't the midnight Mass types."

That made sense, he supposed. The Reynolds clan had an obsession with proper hospitality that bordered on a psychiatric condition. It was right up there with the slightly psychotic sense of familial loyalty that made Dean blend right in. "But I'm not—"

"Last year, you were a guest."

He couldn't stop himself. "How many death threats does it take before you guys consider somebody family?"

"Also," Hannah went on, as if he hadn't said anything, "last year was right after that Austin buyout and Marcy was exhausted. This year, you're part of the family and she's had an easy year. Welcome to the asylum."

He turned the Impala into Dean's driveway. "I was _already_—"

She grinned. In the dim light from the dash, it made her look vaguely demonic. "No, you were part of _Dean's_ family. That's why you were still a guest. Now you're part of _ours_."

"So's Dean, and he's not—"

"Dean's not Catholic."

Sam got the car parked as close to the garage as he could without blocking the van, honked the horn to announce their arrival, and gave his loving wife his best _Are you out of your pregnant mind?_ look. "Neither am I, or did you forget the lectures?" They hadn't been able to wriggle out of the church-mandated pre-marital counseling, and the priest they'd initially gotten had been less than happy to discover that he was dealing with a mixed marriage. He'd been even _less_ happy when he learned that Sam wasn't interested—not even a little bit—in converting. Considering the way the guy had vanished halfway through the process, to be replaced with a very lenient great-uncle Paul, Sam suspected there had been nasty letters and familial interference at high levels. He was pretty sure the local bishop lived in terror of Anne. _God knows everybody else does._

"Yeah, but you're not as violent about churches as he is, either." Hannah heaved herself out of the car, not waiting for him to get there to help. "Even _we_ were surprised when he agreed to get married in one."

"That doesn't ans—"

"Because your pregnant wife is in a fucking _mood_, Winchester!" she snapped, and waddled (oh, God, he did _not_ just think the word "waddled," when had he developed a death wish?) toward the house. Maggie, approaching with two car seats, gave him a sympathetic look.

He got out of the car and opened the back door for her. "What do you think the chances are that she'll go into labor tonight?" She still had a month to go—the due date was Dean's birthday, of all the luck, and hadn't Dean crowed about that—but he wasn't sure _he'd_ make it that long.

"In the middle of Mass?" Maggie wrangled one car seat into the back seat of the Impala and started excavating for the seat belts he'd had installed back when he was ferrying Renee's nieces around all the time. She would be driving the Impala with Hannah, who couldn't climb _into_ the van, and a couple of the kids who would behave for her and Hannah without Marcy or Dean around. Sam, of course, got stuck with the van, Marcy, and the rest of the brats. Something about license laws and Maggie being too young, although that still didn't explain why _he_ was the one driving the van and not Marcy. "Probably not good. And unless her water breaks or something, _and_ it happens before Communion, she'd probably make you stay anyway."

She had a point. Dammit. "I still don't see why your dad couldn't help," he muttered.

"Mom says it's because he can't tempt fate that much, and he's already pushing it with weddings and funerals." She flashed him a grin. "If he shows up much more, God might decide to remind him who's boss." He chuckled at that. "Really, though? It's because somebody has to stay home with the babies, and Dad not being a believer, he's not missing anything by doing that. Plus he gets to nap so he can handle us better tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Christmas. Right. Things went a little bonkers in Dean's house on Christmas morning. Of course, half of that could be attributed to _Dean_, who went as crazy as any of the kids. For a few days around Thanksgiving, Sam had been certain he'd have to change the locks to keep Dean from doing a surprise decorating job on the apartment. All these years as a visitor, and one who generally never showed up before Christmas Eve to boot, had spared him most of his brother's Christmas madness.

_Making up for lost time, he says. Hah._

Maggie considered the second car seat. "I'll take Rissa, she doesn't need a seat."

Which was a good reason to want Rissa in _his_ vehicle, but he didn't argue. "Who's the other one?"

"Kara." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm taking responsibility for her, Uncle Sammy, don't give me that look. She listens to me. Look out."

"Look out for—"

"_Uncle Sammy!_" Ananda slammed into his legs.

_Of course._ He sighed inwardly. More bruises. Between Ananda's exuberance and Hannah's restless kicking every night, his legs had been black and blue for months. "Parasite, I was just here yesterday." He'd been kicked out of the apartment for a baby shower, like the kid wasn't his too, so he'd come over here and been dragged into a marathon coloring-and-Legos session. It wasn't like he'd just stopped by and not said anything to Ananda. But like a puppy, she was always as thrilled to see him as if he'd been gone for years.

"That's a long time at her age," Maggie said impishly.

"Don't you start." He got quite enough teasing over this particular wayward niece from his wife and his brother. Hell, from Marcy, though she at least was nice enough to not laugh in his face. He managed to pry Ananda loose. "Where's your coat, Parasite?"

"In the house."

"Go get it. It's too cold out here for you."

"But—"

"_Ananda_."

He must be starting to get the parental tone right, because she heaved a melodramatic sigh and slumped towards the house, about the same time as the door opened and Marcy shouted, "Ananda Marcella Winchester, get back in here and put on your coat before I leave you here with your daddy! Sam will still be there in five minutes!"

"Not if Sam comes to his senses," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Five bucks says she's in your room by morning," Maggie said brightly.

Sam eyed her suspiciously, wondering—again—if she somehow actually _was_ Dean's kid. She'd been nearly eleven when they adopted her, her personality should have already been mostly set. She should _not_ be _this_ much like his brother. "Why should she stop breaking in now?" he asked sourly, and Maggie laughed.

* * *

The church was already near capacity when they got there, crowded enough that it was impossible for them to all sit together. Maggie found a spot with Kara and Rissa, leaving Marcy and Johnny to handle the rest of the kids.

Sam and Hannah got Ananda, of course.

"Maybe _we_ should just adopt her," Hannah teased—at least, Sam _thought_ she was teasing—as an usher waved them toward a spot on the aisle end of the very last pew. It was barely big enough for both of them, so Ananda wound up sitting in his lap.

"Is it always like this?" Sam asked. He'd come to the weekly Mass with Hannah a couple of times, when the mood had hit her, and he knew this parish was big, but he hadn't expected anything like this.

Before Hannah could answer, a lady in front of them did. "St. Cecilia's decided not to have midnight Mass this year. One of their priests had to go to a church up in the mountains to handle their Christmas services, and the other priest at St. Cecilia's can only handle so much."

"So _two_ parishes are trying to cram in here?"

"Plus visitors," Hannah reminded him, with a bit of a grin. "The Christmas-and-Easter people, the people who just come to this one Mass a year, people visiting their relatives—tall grumpy Yankees married to otherwise intelligent Southerners—" He made a face at her, earning himself a wider grin and a quick kiss.

The lady in front of them gave them a tolerant smile. "You make a lovely family," she said, and then, to Ananda, "Are you ready for your little brother or sister?"

"No, she's not," Sam said quickly. Maybe too quickly, from the lady's raised eyebrow. "I mean, she's my niece." Hannah's elbow jabbed him. "I mean, our niece."

"I'm not a niece, I'm a parasite," Ananda said, giving the lady a glare.

"_Ananda!_" It wasn't the overcrowding in the church making his face suddenly hot. Hannah's half-stifled giggle didn't help. "Parasite's her nickname," he explained lamely.

"I see," the woman said—clearly not approving, but just as clearly too polite to say anything about the damage he was undoubtedly doing to Ananda's self-esteem, like it was his fault she was so attached to him—and turned back around.

Somehow, Sam managed not to mutter "Jesus" out loud. Although this was a church, so it might actually be appropriate. "Ananda, you _are_ our niece."

She squirmed around to face him, her green eyes wide. "I _am?_"

"I'm your uncle, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeees," she said slowly, as if she thought it might be a trick.

"Uncle's the word that describes what I am to you, and niece is the word that describes what you are to me." He was either oversimplifying this or overcomplicating it, and damned if he knew which. "Kara and Maggie and Rissa are my nieces too."

"Oh." She thought on that a second. "What about Mikey and Johnny? Are they nieces?"

"Boys are nephews."

"That's a funny word."

"Out of the mouths of babes," Hannah said.

"Quiet, you."

"Me?" she asked innocently.

"You— _Ow!_ Parasite, stop squirming," he said, managing to stop Ananda's leg before her knee accidentally connected with his crotch.

"Yes, you don't want to damage my toys," Hannah said, with a perfectly straight face. In church.

"Forget Dean. I don't see how any of _your_ family avoids getting hit by lightning."

"Our God is an understanding God," Hannah said primly, opening the missal and thumbing through it. He rolled his eyes. "Also, as we are now married, whatever we do is perfectly legal."

"I think the wrong sister went to law school," he muttered. He should have gone back to hunting. It would have been more peaceful. He could be fighting some nice, sensible, _predictable_ wendigo right about now. In a climate where Christmas was actually _cold_.

"And we both know you'd never go back," she added, not looking up from tonight's readings, like she'd read his mind. It was scary how she did that. "No matter how sensible the wendigo was."

"Did I say—"

"No, but you always think about that wendigo when you think we're being crazy."

Marrying her had made so much sense at the time. Of course, that had been six months ago.

"Uncle Sammy, what's the baby going to be?"

"Huh?" He pulled his attention back to Ananda. "Oh. It's a girl."

"Not that. Is it going to be a parasite?"

Logic was no defense against a five-year-old. "What?"

"When the baby gets here, am I still going to be your parasite?"

He blinked. "Um—"

"Of course you are, sweetie." Hannah came charging to his rescue. "You are _always_ going to be his favorite parasite. Even when you get so old you don't want to be."

"Never," Ananda swore, and Hannah laughed and tweaked her nose. "But— Uncle Sammy, what if the baby wants to be a parasite? Do I have to share?"

"Um—" He was the _uncle_, dammit. He wasn't supposed to get asked these questions.

Bells rang, marking midnight, and the organ thundered into "Adeste Fideles," saving him from further questions.

* * *

Somewhere during the homily, Ananda dozed off, a dead weight with her face buried in his neck and her arms wrapped around him as far as they would reach. She probably wasn't the only one; Sam had heard college lectures less complicated than whatever point the priest was trying to make. He should have saved this sermon for the daytime Mass, when people would be awake enough to understand it.

At first, Sam was just glad she wasn't squirming any more, but then the homily started drawing to a close and he remembered that everybody stood up at the end of it. Hannah motioned for him to stay seated, so he leaned back and tried to shift Ananda's weight to a more comfortable position. Sooner or later, he was going to have to stand up—the rest of the row was going to want communion and wouldn't want to climb over him—and he didn't want his leg to be so numb it gave way. Dean and Marcy wouldn't appreciate him dropping their daughter onto a stone floor.

_Although considering what happened at Thanksgiving, I doubt head injuries would even faze them. I'm surprised the ER hasn't given them their own parking spot._

Usually on church visits, he stood when everyone else did, just to be polite, so he felt a little self-conscious sitting there. But there were a few others pinned to the pew by sleeping kids. Those people had probably earned their kids the old-fashioned way, though.

She woke up a little when he stood to let out the rest of the row for communion, and didn't fight when he set her down. He slid all the way to the end of the pew rather than make Hannah try to climb over him, and when Hannah came back, Ananda decided to stand on the kneeler in front of him rather than climb back into his lap. The bruises he could feel coming up on his thighs were in no hurry for him to pick her back up. What the hell did they make little girls' shoes out of anyway?

When they stood for the dismissal, she insisted on climbing into his arms again, undoubtedly so she could belt "Joy to the World" right into his ear.

* * *

Dean was sitting in the living room when Sam got in the house, _Die Hard_ paused on the TV so he could say good-night to the kids. "Bed," he was ordering Mikey when Sam came in, "you can watch it tomorrow."

"Can I sleep in Johnny and Kevin's—"

"Take it up with them. As long as you're in _somebody's_ room in ten minutes, I don't care, and it better not be mine. Don't give me that look, Sam."

"Me?" Sam asked innocently.

"You. You've been here enough Christmases to know how crazy they get. How far did she make it?"

Sam attempted to pry Ananda's arms from around his neck. Didn't work. He'd met vampires with weaker grips. "Dozed off during the homily, woke up long enough for 'Joy to the World,' was out again before we got the van loaded."

"And she'll be in your room before sunup," Dean said with a grin.

"Don't remind me."

"Give her here, Sam." He obediently handed Ananda off to Marcy. "I'll be back in a minute."

"I'll just have Sammy fetch the snacks." Dean grinned. "Take the jacket off and stay awhile, Sam. You gotta practice for next year, you know."

"Practice?" Sam asked blankly. "And where's—"

"My guess? Bathroom. The last time Courtney was knocked up, every time she visited, she spent— Hey, only one extra in Johnny and Kevin's room!" he shouted. "No fire hazards! If you don't wanna be in your room, storm Kasey's!"

He hadn't even looked up, so how the hell Dean had known that the twins were sneaking across the upstairs landing that opened to the living room was beyond him. Then again, when Sam was the twins' age, he'd been pretty convinced that Dean actually _did_ have eyes in the back of his head. Dad could be fooled. Dean? Never.

"And as for practice—" The grin turned into a smirk. "We'll finish watching the movie to give 'em time to settle down and fall asleep, and then we get to play Santa."

Sam managed not to swear out loud. How did he _always_ get roped into toy assembly? "I am _not_ putting together another bi—"

"Dude! They're not asleep yet!" Dean shot a nervous glance upstairs. "Are you _trying_ to ruin the surprise?"

* * *

Hannah got lucky. She only had to supervise. _Sam_ was the one who got roped into putting together a freakin' _dollhouse_.

Okay, so the dollhouse was a joint project between him and Dean, made all the more exciting by beer and instructions that appeared to have originally been written in Swahili and translated to English via Finnish. They were just lucky Marcy and Hannah's hysterical laughter didn't wake the kids. It was almost four by the time they finished. Thank God he'd gotten a nap this afternoon.

At least he didn't have to worry about driving after the assembly shenanigans. They were spending the night here, in Sam's old room, rather than driving all the way across town to their apartment and then coming _back_ out here later this morning, an exercise that would guarantee a deadly level of "cranky" in a Hannah who had been forbidden caffeine back around Halloween, thanks to spiking blood pressures. Next Christmas, of course, they'd be in their own house, less than a mile away from here.

Sam couldn't help but smile at that, even as he shut the bathroom window that Marcy had thoughtfully left open so that the guest room would be a cozy little deep-freeze for Hannah. _Their house._ He'd had dreams of that, once, long ago, and had buried them after Jess died. Just a year ago, he'd thought there was nothing left for him, that it was his fault Dean was trapped in a life he didn't want—that he himself might end up back out on the road just because he'd failed normal life so much.

Just a year. So much change. A wife, a child on the way, a piece of land just waiting for this state's schizophrenic climate to cooperate so it could be cleared and the house built, enough in-laws to repopulate New York City...and a new niece who clung like a jungle vine.

If anyone had told him about this a year ago...

He smiled again when he went back into the main room to find Hannah sitting in the battered armchair, fanning herself like it was the Fourth of July instead of Christmas. "Guess I'm not turning on the heat." This part of the house had its own thermostat, since it was basically a separate apartment. He'd turned it up to sixty, but the way she was fanning herself, any higher and she wouldn't get any sleep.

"I'll be okay in a minute." She glared at her swollen belly. "I'm starting to wonder if this is a baby or a nuclear reactor."

"Our daughter, the power plant. Has a nice ring to it." Hannah glared at him. "At least she'll earn her keep?" he suggested meekly.

"Good thing, since she's about five minutes from having a single parent."

"Okay, okay, I'll be good. C'mere, before my fingers fall off."

"It is _not_ cold in here," she growled, but let him help her out of her dress.

"Your fingers are blue," he pointed out, handing her the nightgown she'd brought.

"Circulation," she said, a little muffled by fabric, "not cold."

"Uh-huh."

She lowered herself onto the bed, and stuck one foot out. "Socks."

Sam pulled off her socks for her. Her ankles were less swollen than they had been, even with all the standing at church. "I will be so glad when you can reach your feet again."

"You and me both, mister. I don't know how single women handle this."

"You're just spoiled," he said, and ducked the pillow she threw at him. He got her settled, and changed into the old sweats he'd brought. "Do I even bother locking the door?" he asked.

"Oh, make her work for it." She looked up. "You _were_ kidding about getting her lockpicks for Christmas, right?"

"What does Ananda need lockpicks for? As far as I can tell, she can get through any door in the greater Charlotte metro." He locked it anyway, then crawled into bed. "I got her a book on respecting other people's privacy."

"_Sam!_"

"Give me a _little_ credit." Hannah was at least nice enough to radiate some of that heat she kept complaining about; it was already toasty under the covers. "She wanted blue nail polish. A specific kind of _shimmery_ blue nail polish. And it had to be from _me_, not Santa."

"A bottle of nail polish is going to look a little stingy next to—"

"I'll have you know—" he yawned "—it's _five_ bottles, all different shades of blue shimmer, that I had to order off the Internet—"

"Because Wal-Mart doesn't stock nail polish anymore," she said dryly.

He ignored the sarcasm. "And the nice lady in customer service even wrote a note from the nail polish fairy that if Ananda tries to use it on Uncle Sammy, it will all vanish."

"The _nail polish fairy?_" Her voice sounded strangled. He wasn't sure if it was shock or laughter.

"There will be no repeats of last year."

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "Just wait until the little nuclear reactor wants to play dress-up with Daddy."

"Then I'll do what Dean does."

She raised an eyebrow. "I can't _wait_ to hear this one."

"Send her to her uncle."

"She is _not_ playing dress-up with _Dean_." He laughed at the indignation. "Oh, funny, Sam." She rolled—well, sort of; it was getting _really_ hard for her to move around the baby's bulk, so it was more of a heave and a flop, not that he was suicidal enough to phrase it that way—onto her side to face him. The baby meant she couldn't cuddle up against him the way she once had—then again, that was kinda sorta how they'd wound up with the baby in the first place. "You remember what today is, don't you?"

"Um. Let's see. The twenty-fifth of December. Isn't there some obscure holiday—_ow!_" He rubbed his arm where she'd hit it.

"You've been around your brother too long."

"You're one to talk," he pointed out. Marcy and Firth could keep up with Dean any day. Marcy occasionally _out_-sarcasmed Dean. "Other than Christmas, I can't think of—"

"We met a year ago today."

"No, we met at—"

"Like either one of us remembers their wedding. We were _both_ having anxiety attacks."

_That_ he remembered. The recessional where he'd been paired with her on the way out of the church—there was photographic proof, much of it hanging in the front hall of this very house—not so much. He remembered a little more of the rehearsal dinner, that being where Jo had cornered him and given him a _very_ detailed dissertation on which parts of his anatomy she'd remove if he didn't behave, but Hannah hadn't arrived in time for that. The rehearsal dinner, not the dissertation. _Everybody_ had heard the dissertation. As for Hannah, back then, she'd been borderline agoraphobic thanks to the poltergeists; the fact that their church was properly consecrated ground, safe from poltergeists, had figured into the decision to have the wedding there as much as the Reynolds' religion had, and was probably why Dean hadn't really argued about it. "Poltergeists and death threats."

"Exactly." She gave him a gentle smile, the kind that four-fifths of the family would swear she was incapable of. "No, my first memory of you is _always_ going to be walking into the den and seeing you sitting there all painted up with Lori trying to braid your hair." He groaned, and her smile just got wider. "You looked _so_ miserable, I just had to rescue you."

"As I recall, you burst into giggles."

"Well, you _were_ hilarious. Even a little kid should have known that the green eye shadow was _much_ more suited to your coloring."

"The gr— You are a terrible person, Hannah Reynolds."

"That's Hannah Reynolds _Winchester_, and you love me anyway. And not just because I sat down with you and distracted them."

"And then helped Ananda steal my dinner. And stabbed me with a fork. And made me get my face painted. Why did I agree to go out with you again?"

"Whine, whi—_shit!_ Feel this!" She pressed his hand against her belly in time for him to feel a couple of powerful kicks.

"World Cup, here we come."

"Evil man."

"And you love me anyway." She smiled. "I had an idea—"

"I told you to quit that nasty habit."

He ignored that. "Let's set the alarm and sneak out before they all wake up. We'll just go to your parents' way early."

"Sam, I know we said we were going to make Marcy and Dean the legal guardians of our little fetus if something happened to us, but can we hold off the suicide attempts until _after_ she's born?"

"It's not—"

"They'd be fighting over who got to kill whom first. You do _not_ get between those two and Christmas morning. Next year it's all us, okay? In a shiny new house, even."

The thought made him smile. The baby kicked again. "You think our house will ever be as crazy as this one?" he asked softly.

She chuckled. "Sam, if you wanted twelve kids, you should've married me ten years ago." She kissed him. "But I bet we can manage a decent amount of crazy with just two or three. Whaddya say?"

"Let's get this one here first." He thought a minute. "And if you could manage _not_ to have her on Dean's birthday, that would be great."

She frowned. "I don't think it's up to me, but why?"

"Because—" He yawned again, and gave his pillow a punch. "—he will never, _ever_ shut up about it."

* * *

Sam woke up sometime after dawn, when it was just light enough that he could see the room clearly. He raised his head off the pillow, listening. Dean and Marcy had pretty strict rules about Christmas morning wake-up times and when it was appropriate to storm the tree. Those rules had never made sense to Sam before, but now that he knew the midnight Mass was a tradition, he understood better. As crazy as the kids were, crazy _and_ sleep-deprived would be worse, especially since there wasn't time for a nap between Christmas morning here and Christmas dinner at their grandparents' house.

He didn't hear anything from the living room, and none of the kids were any good at sneaking around. So what had—

Wait a minute.

Moving without disturbing Hannah was a challenge, but he managed to ease away from her—and got a plastic nose right in the back of his neck. "Ananda," he muttered, recognizing that plastic. She was almost as attached to that giant Care Bear as she was to him.

She had the damn bear shoved so far up against his back that he couldn't roll over, not well, not without pushing Hannah away, and it wasn't a matter of just shoving the bear, she was wrapped around the damn thing. And she'd forgotten a blanket again. _Really? How many times—_

He sat up—Hannah mumbled and smacked at him and stole his pillow—to snag one of the throw blankets tossed across the footboard. "You have _got_ to start remembering these things, Parasite," he muttered, tucking it around her. At least she'd learned not to burrow under _his_ covers. He stole his pillow back from Hannah, getting a kick and another smack in reply, and pulled the covers back up.

They both promptly snuggled up against him so closely that he couldn't move.

_At least I didn't take Maggie's bet,_ he thought, smiling, and fell asleep.

_**the end**_


End file.
